


No nights are dark enough

by a_la_grecque



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alley Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Aziraphale accidentally and not accidentally using prostitutes, Crowley lookalikes, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Topping, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, Pining Aziraphale (Good Omens), angsty masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 08:21:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20871128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_la_grecque/pseuds/a_la_grecque
Summary: Aziraphale has an unexpected physical response to Crowley in the early days on earth, and decides the best way of handling it is angst, alcohol, and prostitutes.





	No nights are dark enough

It had been a shock, the first time it happened. It wasn't that he was totally unfamiliar with the concept, he'd spent enough time watching Adam in Eden to get the general idea. He'd just assumed that his parts were simply decorative rather than functional, since angels didn't really have any use for the practical applications.

He certainly hadn't expected them to respond that way to... well, to  _ a demon _ . He’d thought he and Crowley were simply getting more accustomed to each other, when it became less jarring to be in the demon’s presence. Although there were plenty of other angels and demons on earth at various times, they were the only two who seemed to have permanent postings, and it had felt almost natural to drink and trade stories on the occasions when their paths crossed. It also hadn’t hurt that humans were getting considerably better at creating drinkable alcohol with every passing year.   


Aziraphale had thought things were just getting comfortable between them, until one night when they’d been drinking into the small hours with the locals getting rowdier and rowdier around them. It wasn’t strictly necessary for the demon to lean into him, with his angelic hearing he was more than capable of picking up his words even with all the singing and shouting going on. He’d leaned in anyway, speaking directly into Aziraphale’s ear with his golden eyes reflecting back more light than was strictly possible, and his hair resting on Aziraphale’s shoulder.   


That was all it had taken, suddenly his cock was anything but decorative, it was hard and ready for something Aziraphale couldn’t completely comprehend. His first thought was that the demon was trying to tempt him, but Crowley had just carried on softly conversing with him and seemingly noticing nothing at all out of the ordinary. Aziraphale had made his excuses and left soon after that, body and mind burning with freshly ignited lust. He’d been forced to conclude that it was his own treacherous flesh at fault, entirely his own deviant desires.   


He’d warmed up to the idea, a little, during the intervening years. He supposed he really wasn't supposed to touch himself the way he did (furtively, when he was well hidden from prying eyes from above), but he told himself it was probably better than fumbling in the brothels and backstreets of Sodom with attractive redheads picked up on a whim. Which, of course, was something he'd never done. Definitely not twice.

***

The first one he’d met in a seedy tavern, where he was ostensibly making observations on the depths humans could sink to. It was the hair that caught his attention first, the long cascading red curls that lit something inside him like a flame and set his traitorous cock twitching. For half a second he thought it might have really been the demon, but the stranger was a little too stocky, and wearing the same rough undyed homespun as half the people in the city. In short, he was a little too unremarkable.

That wasn't enough to stop Aziraphale from staring though, staring and yearning. He wasn't consciously exerting any angelic influence, but he was several cups of wine in already so perhaps it wasn't totally random coincidence when the stranger turned around and walked over to him, smiling.

Up close, the resemblance melted away. The stranger's green eyes, while pleasant, were all too human, his teeth were crooked, and his breath smelled disconcertingly of onions. Still, the hair was quite breathtaking. They shared several more cups of sour red wine and made idle small talk. Or rather, the stranger talked while Aziraphale sipped nervously. He'd shied away from these types of casual human interactions so far, and he was now realising he'd need some kind of cover story. You might not get dismissed out of hand for announcing yourself as one of God's angels in these parts, but experience told him that it wasn't the reaction he wanted.

The stranger's eyes lit up after he saw Aziraphale had a decent amount of money, and he inched ever closer to the angel, until their bodies were almost touching and Aziraphale could feel the heat rising from his skin. Without warning, the stranger leaned in, his curls brushing Aziraphale's cheek as he whispered in the angel's ear that perhaps they should go somewhere else. Aziraphale let out a long, shaky breath and his cock hardened instantly, betraying him once again. He mutely nodded his assent and stumbled after the stranger, adjusting his robes to hide his arousal.

He didn't have a clear idea of where somewhere else might be, but the stranger seemed to have a destination in mind. The city felt wilder and more dangerous as he was led steadily away from the populated streets with their soft lamplight spilling forth from windows, until there was nothing but the moonlight and the occasional soft grunts of sleeping animals and rutting humans coming from the darkened buildings around them.

There was nothing special, as far as he could tell, about the place they finally stopped, but it seemed to suit the stranger as he turned and smiled, his crooked teeth gleaming in the moonlight. Before Aziraphale had time to think about what might happen next, the stranger was on him, shoving him roughly against a wall. The other man's body was pressed fully against his and he could feel the stranger was hard as well, the friction almost painful as their cocks rubbed together underneath their clothes. Aziraphale's body was wracked with wordless desire, hips bucking and fingers digging into the stranger's arms.

The stranger claimed his mouth next, his tongue forcing Aziraphale's lips apart and slithering inside. It was a shocking sensation, not unpleasantly so, but before he could think of reciprocating the stranger was moving on, panting against Aziraphale's ear as he fumbled with his robes. Aziraphale buried his nose in the stranger's hair, which smelled of sweat and sun-baked dust. The stranger's hand inched up Aziraphale's thigh, the heat of his skin so intense that Aziraphale could almost feel the trail of palm prints left burned into his skin. Then the stranger's hand reached his cock and wrapped around it, pumping slowly, and suddenly Aziraphale was gasping and desperate, biting down on the stranger's neck. His whole body was on fire, this was what it felt like to burn, and he was sure he would explode from the longing. His mind couldn't process it, but his body knew how to respond, thrusting eagerly into the stranger's palm.

He moaned in protest when the stranger released him and dropped to his knees in the dust. He pushed Aziraphale's robe up around his waist, the cool night breeze was a torture as it whispered against his burning flesh. Then the stranger's mouth was on him, swallowing him down whole. It was nothing like he had ever imagined and yet he never wanted it to end. He tangled his fingers in that glorious hair, pulling the stranger in even closer. Then he felt his tongue, sliding wetly over the underside of his cock.

"Oh my..." he murmured, "Oh, Cr-"

He bit down on the name, his desire too shameful to speak aloud, but the mere thought was enough. This was it, he was sure, the moment of explosion. His body was shaking uncontrollably, and he couldn't begin to imagine how he would explain this when he found himself back in heaven. He didn't know how discorporation was supposed to feel, but this felt like all his internal organs were trying to escape through his cock. His head banged back against the wall, light exploding behind his eyes and his breath coming in ragged gasps. It took some time, but eventually he realised he could still feel the stones of the wall behind his shuddering shoulders, the night air against his wet and rapidly softening cock. Perhaps there wouldn't be a need for awkward explanations after all.

The stranger wiped his mouth and flashed him a crooked grin.

"That was quick," he said, getting to his feet and holding out his his hand.

Aziraphale fumbled for coins, eventually handing over all of the change he'd received for the various cups of wine. It was a reasonable amount, but the stranger scowled and spat in the dust at Aziraphale's feet before vanishing into the maze of alleyways.

Boneless and weak at the knees, Aziraphale slid to the ground, grateful for the concealing blanket of darkness.

***

He was better prepared, the second time around. He came equipped with a backstory, for a start, having decided to set himself up as a cloth merchant. He actually found it rather interesting work, although the trading part itself was rather tedious. In addition to improving his wardrobe, it also gave him the excuse he needed to appear and disappear as he pleased. It also gave him a plausible reason for hanging around the brothel keepers of Sodom, at least the ones who cared about appropriately packaging their wares. He'd actually been assigned to do it, so he told himself it was perfectly normal to report back to Gabriel about the depravity and debauchery he observed and and at the same time to quietly note things for his own purposes.

He wasn't planning any repeat encounters, but he couldn't help but learn as he went about his work. It turned out bodies could do an awful lot of things he'd never expected, humans had obviously innovated a lot since Adam and Eve's clumsy fumblings in Eden. It was innocent enough, surely, if he turned those observations into personal experiments. He was just testing the limits of his body, or so he told himself as he sweated in the night, hands roaming feverishly under the covers. He discovered he wasn't at risk of imminent discorporation, although he didn't like to think what would happen if anyone found out who was in his mind before he tipped himself over the edge of oblivion.

He might even have thought he was preparing himself to better resist temptation, but any such illusions melted away when he encountered Meshullam. He tried not to pay too much attention to the prostitutes, as a rule. Not as individuals, anyway. He'd casually heal them, subtly encourage racketeers to try their luck elsewhere, but they were more or less interchangeable to him.

This one was different, and of course it was the hair again. Beautiful auburn curls that left his mouth dry. He was slender as a girl, swathed in an exquisite dark fabric that Aziraphale had found it particularly hard to part with. The eyes were all wrong, of course, a brown so deep that you could drown in them.

"Do you like what you see?" the young man asked.

"Yes." It slipped out without thinking. "I, I mean... your clothes. I sold that cloth."

The young man smiled. "I think you like what's underneath them, too." He stuck out his hand. "Meshullam."

Aziraphale took it. Meshullam's fingers were long and delicate, belying the strength of his grip. The angel's stomach turned over, he was beset by a creeping sense of dread that he'd just sealed some unspeakable pact. Well, it was done now. "Az..ariah. Yes, Azariah. That's me."

Meshullam was still holding his hand, and he unexpectedly pulled him in close, leaning down to whisper in his ear. "I think you and I should spend some time together, Azariah."

"Now?" Aziraphale squeaked, his voice high and unnatural. He cleared his throat hurriedly. "I can't possibly, I have important things to do."

"Not now, then. Tonight. Whenever you like."

"I can do it tonight," Aziraphale said, "Spend some time with you. I can come tonight. I should come here, tonight?"

"Yes, Azariah," Meshullam said, "You should come here tonight." He brought Aziraphale's hand to his lips, kissed it briefly, and released him. "I'll be waiting for you."

Aziraphale didn't, in fact, have any important things to do that afternoon, so he spent it pacing the streets and furiously debating with himself. On the one hand, it wasn't so different from developing a taste for any other human habits. Gabriel might tease him about his love of honeyed figs, but he'd never suggested there was anything terribly wrong with it. On the other hand, well, there was the other hand.

He was quite sure he wasn't going to go back there, and if he did he certainly wouldn't do anything. He was so certain that he made sure to change into clean clothes, and check he had a good supply of the right kind of coins. So certain that he headed back to the brothel as soon as it could decently be called night.

Meshullam was waiting for him, as promised, and led him quietly to a private room. It was empty apart from a low bed and a small table loaded with things Aziraphale wasn't ready to think about.

"So, what do you want from me?" Meshullam asked.

_ Everything. _

"You're new at this, I think."

"I know what to do," Aziraphale said, stumbling unconvincingly over the words.

"Of course you do. Maybe we should start with a kiss, then. Nice and easy."

He was standing awfully close to Aziraphale, close enough for him Aziraphale to feel every breath he let out it. It was simple enough to close the distance between them. Meshullam's lips were warm and compliant against his own, pleasant but there was no spark of excitement. He pulled away again.

"Who do you need me to be for you?" Meshullam whispered.

Aziraphale could feel the abyss opening up in front of him. He was teetering somewhere on the brink. "I need... I need a little bit more resistance."

"Oh…” He kissed Aziraphale a little harder. “You want me to fight you?” He caught Aziraphale’s lower lip between his teeth, bit down just a little. “You want to tie me down and force me?"

Aziraphale didn't think that was what he wanted, but his body was definitely responding to it. "I... I don't know."

"Then we'll have to work it out as we go along."

Meshullam stripped, going from clothed to naked in one fluid, practiced move and that was all it took for Aziraphale, before the clothes hit the floor he was claiming the young man's lips for his own with urgent, desperate kisses. It was an almost automatic response - there was no finesse to it, he knew, as their noses banged together and their teeth almost clashed. He didn't particularly care, as long as he could satisfy his growing hunger. They stumbled awkwardly towards the bed, Aziraphale trying to fight his way out of his own clothes and failing miserably. They had to break apart for a second so he could free himself, and then tumbled naked together onto the bed.

Meshullam wrapped his legs around Aziraphale's waist and squeezed him tight. It felt exquisite, and Aziraphale closed his eyes and gave into the pure sensation of feeling another body pressed against his own, skin against skin. All too soon, Meshullam pulled away, leaving Aziraphale stifling a cry of protest.

"Shh, you're going to like this, I promise."

He reached for a small bottle on the table and poured something into his hand. He rolled back towards Aziraphale and wrapped his hand around his cock, coating it with something slick and cool. Aziraphale wondered why he'd never thought to try this himself, and then he lost all capacity for rational thought when Meshullam wriggled down so he could pump both their cocks together in a loose fist, sliding over and against each other until Aziraphale couldn't help but rock his hips forward, thrusting into the motion.

"Do you want to fuck me then, Azariah? I can feel how hard you are for me. I'm ready for you."

"Oh, fuck." The profanity tasted strange and unfamiliar in his mouth. He rolled Meshullam onto his back so he could get on top and rut against him more effectively. "Yes, I want to... want to fuck you."

"Good, because I want you inside me."

Aziraphale pulled back and looked down at him, splayed against the mattress. "Not like this," he said, swallowing hard, "I want you on your knees."

Always obliging, Meshullam turned over, presenting Aziraphale with the long, elegant curve of his spine, his beautiful hair tumbling over his shoulders and around his face. This. This was what Aziraphale wanted.

He worked his slicked-up cock almost automatically. Confronted with the reality of his desires, he was suddenly feeling lost again. He reached out with his free hand and gently touched the young man's back, trailing his fingers down and probing gently.

In response, Meshullam bucked his hips back into Aziraphale's soft caress. "You don't have to take things slowly with me. I told you, I'm ready for you."

Aziraphale didn't need any further encouragement, even if his technique left something to be desired. He grabbed the young man firmly by the hips, and after a few abortive thrusts succeeded in penetrating him. He'd grown more accustomed to the feeling that every nerve ending in his body was migrating into his cock, but he'd never experienced anything like this heat and enveloping tightness. For all his practice, he still didn't last very long. He no longer worried about discorporation, but he wondered if this was a little bit what dying felt like as he collapsed onto the mattress, empty and sweating.

He couldn't look Meshullam in the eyes afterwards, he was too afraid of what he might see there.

***

The Judgement happened not long after that second encounter, and it scared him off for a long time. It's not so much that it put the fear of God into him as the fear of Sandalphon and his ilk, planting a seed of doubt about what pure unadulterated goodness can do, untempered by mercy or compassion.

Besides, he'd very nearly convinced himself it was enough, alone in the night with nothing but his own hands and his sinful desires. He could even have done away entirely with this strange indulgence, he'd learned enough now about his new body and the angelic control he could exert over it, adapting its shape to better suit his needs. He never did though, he couldn't quite deprive himself of the pleasure, and the punishment, and the penance.

He was almost sure it was enough, until the night he found himself drinking alone in another not-quite-yet-godforsaken desert town, and all the hairs on his body stood up at once, a split second before he heard a familiar voice behind him saying "Hello, angel."

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from 'Flow, my tears' by John Dowland, because if Aziraphale is going to be angsty and self-indulgent, why not soundtrack it with a renaissance lute ayre. Happy, happy they that in hell feel not the world's despite.


End file.
